Reality bites
by Shrike
Summary: Ah summaries - my bane. Anyway, this is just something I felt like doing. Don’t worry; no twisted porn or violence, this actually has a plot. Sort of. A taste of REAL life in tekken. It’s short so give it a shot. CH 2 - sneak a peak into one of Paul's day
1. Open your eyes Jin

(I had to repost fix some margins etc. but no worries **Su Me**, your comment is copy/pasted in the end, as is my answer to it. Just so you don't think I did this to erase your 'gems'. I want others to read it because it is not useless – it can always serve as a bad example. Ppl like you really make my day, especially when I get you foaming over such a triviality. Just makes me wanna tease you on. In fact, I dare you to review all my fics thehe

**Tamble** - thank you very much for your review, I seriously appreciate it, especially after Su Me's one. Doomo arigatou :))

As I said, it's just something I sat and did. I was experimenting on something (i. e. a slightly different style of writing), but I don't think you'll notice. Or should care :).

Anyway, pre tekken 4 Jin, one random day, a weird plot, forgive the non-native speaker, blah blah, I don't own tekken or Jin, just the girl. Didn't bother naming her tho, I'll leave that to your imagination ;)

Enjoy

P.S. the title is actually a line from tekken 4 Jin's ending movie (which I don't own either hehe) as are the Japanse words (guess they translated them 'hate, anger, curse (me)'. Am not sure) but I can only hope I got them right. It's not like Japanese is my mother tongue either :)

**Open your eyes, Kazama Jin! **

He sat up in bed so abruptly that his shocked mind, still hazed by sleep, had to struggle with a spinning vertigo for several long seconds, desperate to see through thick darkness, before remembering where he was.

_Ikari… ikume… noroe…_

The callous voice inside his head finally faded away. So merciless. So disturbingly familiar.

The scream that woke him up still echoed through the space, ricocheting against bare, undecorated walls before dying out completely.

A pair of wide, scared eyes formed out before him as his pupils gradually adjusted to darkness. A young woman was staring at him - an unblinking, pale face framed by a tangled mess that was her hair. But it wasn't she who had screamed.

What was it, third time this week?

The girl shakily shifted after a moment of silence burdened by unease, as if she half-expected something more to happen. Outside the never-sleeping city was murmuring its night song, like a giant machine put on hold. Jin sighed, silently hoping some angry neighbor would come and knock on the door, complain, shout, protest, just so he can explain and apologize and promise to be more considerate next time. Anything, just to avoid this conversation. Again.

He tried to brokenly smile. It didn't work; after spasms of pain and horror, his facial muscles seemed limp and too heavy to move. Just like the rest of his body. Only his brain seemed to be working overtime.

"Did I wake you up?" he whispered, unable to think of anything better to say.

Shadows on girls' face deepened, indicating a frown. Several more moments of awkward silence passed. After the head-piercing scream, this calm almost felt wrong. The girl seemed not to blink, just watch, like a cat preparing for a leap.

"Look…I'm sorry" Jin sighed, feeling a trickle of sweat slide down his back, making his skin crawl again "It was just a bad dream…"

Or was that maybe a grimace of fear instead of anger on her face? 

"That dream again?" she squeezed out through trembling lips, now hidden behind her knees. She had pulled her legs up, putting a barrier between them, staring at him with watery eyes. The voice behind the sheet was muffled and quiet. Scared.

Jin hesitated for a moment, wondering if he really heard trembles in her voice, then concluded he was probably still too shocked to reason properly anyway, though he tried hard not to show it. After another moment he decided it would be better if he didn't try to reach out for her right now; she was pretty angry the last time. He didn't blame her at all.

"Yes" he nodded, debating with himself should he try to sleep tonight at all. He glanced about, looking for bright red digital numbers of an alarm clock.

Three in the morning.

For god's sake! Too late to fall asleep, too early to just get up and go on with your life. He ran a hand across his forehead, removing locks of hair plastered by sweat to the skin that felt cold and clayey to touch. It's even too early for jogging, too early for breakfast, too early to be awake and THINK about these things at all.

When he turned back, he saw she hasn't moved at all... Just sitting there in a fetal position, with hands on her knees, fingers clutching the sheet, staring at him. She looked like a small, terrified child facing the demon she always knew lived in her bedroom closet.

Jin grumbled to himself, feeling a headache swelling up between his templates. He didn't mean to frighten her like this, but, honestly, if she planned to sulk on, he'd appreciate if she just went back to sleep instead. At least she could.

"I'm sorry I scared you…" he began, but a car alarm from somewhere below wailed like a wounded animal, making her flinch and let out a startled whimper. Bad timing.

"Just a car" Jin smiled, speaking in a louder, assuring voice. He thought that might help to break the tension. However, she just sat motionlessly, an inanimate black silhouette against the illuminated but starless night sky above the city. Her shallow breaths seemed to count the number of passing seconds in this ominous silence, measuring how far the two of them were drifting apart.

Then she whispered, slowly but with a clear determination in her voice

"I'm going home."

"What, now?" he interrupted, a bit harsher than he intended and instinctively reached out for her. In response she got up in a movement that was just a little bit too swift, pulling a sheet off the bed and up to her shoulders, desperate to put something between them, anything just to distance herself, hide from his gaze. Even a paper-thin sheet seemed like an iron curtain now. Pressed to her body, it shook like a leaf on the wind, both the cloth and the flesh in the same bloodless shade of white.

Jin sat back, trying to make some sense out of all this. Another car passed by and the sound of its engine came and went with a Doppler effect, just emphasizing the lack of sounds in this room. The base of his skull was pulsating with pain now and he already knew he would get no more sleep tonight. Maybe it was better so, anyway.

Then he noticed she was really examining his face, searching for something with her eyes wildly jabbing up and down, left and right under brows knotted in a grimace of a tearless cry. The young man tilted his head to one side in a genuine wonder, slightly unnerved by the revelation.

Instead of with her, was there something wrong with him?

While taking one more involuntary step back, she let the sheet fall and blindly started picking up scattered clothes off the floor, hastily dressing herself, never taking nervous eyes off the young man sitting on the bed. Her voice was thin and uneven, more an apology than an explanation –

"I imagined… For a moment I though I saw…"

"What?"

Jin struggled to sound patient and calm. It seemed the nightmare didn't end the moment he woke up; in a way, being alone in a cold bed on nights like these was far worse. "I though you were spending the night here…" he continued, almost to himself. Disappointment and disbelief mixed with sadness in his voice. He didn't care, he just wanted her here.

She just wanted to leave.

As she made no attempt to stop or answer, he slowly extended his hand and offered her an open palm. In dim light his pale skin glistered under a layer of cold sweat. He suddenly felt very weak. Small. Broken. He needed her warmth, her calming touch.

"Please. Stay with me"

The girl hesitated, with a T-shirt in hands. For one long moment he watched her inner struggle, so well mirrored on her face and her sunken shoulders. In this city of strangers, she was all he had. Then, under the unearthly electric lights from the outside he saw her eyes harden, she backed away, giving him an overly emphatic shake of her head.

No.

In rush towards the door the girl half-panicky pulled the T-shirt over her head, almost tripped and fell over, but desperately regained balance and got out, without even stopping for a fleeting glance over her shoulder to check if Jin was still on the bed. She couldn't, didn't want to see the pleading eyes of the boy who silently mouthed "I need you here", too broken inside to make a sound, too proud to beg. She never turned back.

In the hall, an electric bulb went on, shedding scarce light in the bedroom.

Hectic shuffles as she was looking for her shoes, bag, keys.

Jin, hazed, stared at the bar of light below the door. From time to time, when she passed by, her feet would leave dancing shadows behind. He watched their soundless sweeps across the floor, feeling her slipping just as elegantly and silently through his fingers, wishing he could freeze this moment, stop the shadows where they are, prevent her from leaving, talk to her, explain.

But, he couldn't. He knew she wouldn't understand. He couldn't expect her to.

Swallowing hard, he managed to make his voice sound firm enough "Do you want me to walk you home?"

The front door slammed.

He knew she didn't really need his help; she had a flat near by and Brisbane was a safe place to live in. She'd be alright, She didn't need him.

But he…

Jin lowered his chin to his chest and looked at muscled hands that lied in his lap, broken. He raised the two mighty fists in front of his face, examining them, flexing powerful muscles. Harder than rocks, tougher than steel. He intended to fight and kill with these two and yet, they weren't strong enough to even keep one woman by his side.

The boy let his head fall in his hands and wept.

- - - - - -

As the city started to awaken and greet the new day, pale rays of sunlight shyly bathed the room in gradual, almost unnoticeable sweeps. They slowly unveiled the figure that lied curled up in bed, hugging a pillow. The boy's eyes were open, but were looking at nothing, lost in thought.

After another sleepless night, another blurry morning.

Strangely, nights like this one made him think of his father; the man he never even met. Was he waking up in sweat, half-dead with horror too? Was he scaring his mother like this, night by night, waking her up, destroying her peace? Did he willingly agree to this hell? Did he really throw his life, love, future, everything away just to have his revenge?

And was it worth it?

The boy held the pillow more tightly, closing his bloodshot eyes. It was cold and lifeless, just like he felt inside.

But revenge… that can certainly make a man's blood boil.

Jin's eyes snapped open, without a trace of sleepiness, armed with a determined and sharp glare. Yes, he needs to focus on the future, on that big day he felt was very close now. That's all that mattered. Corners of his mouth curved up in a sickish grin.

The boy got up swiftly, energetically stretched and started pulling on his worn-out jogging pants.

On his way out, he turned off the light in the hall.

Outside, cars and sleepy people rushed out to streets, adding more noise to the already fast-growing clamor. A new day was beginning.

shrug pointless, I know… ok, but if you really hate being inane, you can see the ending as something deep and symbolic… like the bad example (father) whose path, without realizing, he chose to follow. Thus the 'LIGHTS OFF' image; he shut the door to his own salvation. And so on, and so on …

Now, do you want more of these 'a day in a life' bits, or was this one more than enough? :)

Thanks for reading

'lost' reviews:

Su Me )

This is a stupid, stupid, stupid STUPID story. Odds are the only thing stupider than this "story" is the reflection you see in the mirror every day. What a loser u are to think this is readable. Bet u don't even have the backbone to email me and stand up for yourself even after the beating you just got now, LOSER. Do yourself a favour now and get a capital L tattooed on your forehead. It'll prepare you for the rest of your life and alert others to steer clear of you. The better to make sure we're not affected by your genes.

Shrike

LOL! (I assume a rabid fangirl) Su Me; bite me!

I never mail my reviewers, what makes you so special I should start with you? So what, the story maybe sucks... but at least it's just a story and not my life (as only a bitter, bitter person could write such a comment). Go get a life. Oh and thanks for reviewing... ppl like you make me appreciate my own sanity even more

Tambleheadmonster 

Unusual, intriguing, and all around well balanced.

-Tamble


	2. Tomorrow never knows Paul

**BrideOnFire** – (love your nick btw) thanks for your comment and for your support. Nice words like those would bring an insta-grin on any writer's face. Arigatou! :)

**Tamble** – as I said before; your review is so much more precious because it came after that nasty one. Short and constructive; I like it! Thank you very much!

Karisan-karisan – here's an idea: although I don't normally do requests, since you seem to think so much my 'art', I'd like to do one tekken fanart for you. If you feel like it, take some time to think about it and mail me. As you may have noticed, I usually get inspiration from songs or lines someone said or some specific situation, so if you've got some picture you'd like to be drawn, related of that, in mind, do tell cos it would help me 'see' what you mean better. Oh, and there are no limits; it can be G to X rated. Don't worry, I can be quite shameless sometimes :). The Cyrillic letters are the ones used to write for example Russian language. I'm amazed that you know about Croatia/EU relations, seriously. Ppl usually don't give a damn :). Yes, we are pretty far away; I've never been to Portugal, but have been in Spain, right next to your border. It was almost a 3 day bus ride! :) 

As for the previous chapter, just a few words; yes, I believe that, in the end, Jin is not a happy man. Ok so he won the iron fist tournament or two, but I think other aspects of his life are pretty screwed up. I've always wondered did he transform because he was genetically predestined to or because he was just as hell bound on his revenge as his father was on his? Like, his outside started reflecting his inside. I actually think he's a symbolic good/evil struggle, on many levels. Way to go NAMCO, who needs Shakespeare :)

Believe it or not, this chapter was actually inspired by a song by Mr Children (nope, don't own them); thus the title. Well, the general tone of that song is quite unlike the atmosphere of this text, but in my head something clicked while I listened to it. Don't ask :). In case you're interested, I pasted the song plus its translation in the end.

One more thing in advance; the foot sores I'm referring to later in text are the kind you get on parts of your soles where your entire weight is shifted to and is pressing down, as you turn practically on your toes to deliver e. g. a high kick. Can be pretty nasty, especially if you're barefoot and are jumping around a lot, changing direction, shifting weight, etc. I know this from my own experience; not pretty, especially if you overdo it . 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS**

God, he hated Sundays.

He yawned out of boredom, wishing he was really tired so he could go back to bed and actually sleep this day away. An escape by hibernation. It sounded good. He wouldn't mind at all if he lost one seventh of his life like that, just to be free of this feeling.

The feeling of waiting for life to start again.

Paul lazily walked across the room shifting his weight deliberately slowly, all too aware he was the only living thing stirring this stale air, disturbing layers of dust of his bachelor flat. Almost an intruder, a foreign object amid motionless, inanimate pieces of furniture. Old wooden floor creaked in protest beneath his body, only confirming his morbid impression.

He mostly used this flat for sleeping only; leaving early in the morning and returning late in the evening. It wasn't the kind of place that invoked homesick feelings or where you'd invite your friends to; with its lack of decorations, scarce furniture, no redundant items and an overall ascetic appearance it looked more like an evolved cave, than a modern apartment. Any man could survive here, sure, but only a few could actually live in a place like this, without starting to feel the growing, crushing coldness of its impersonality. Paul was, however, the kind that liked to keep things simple. He was so unaccustomed to seeing this flat during the day, his out of place feeling wasn't just unreasonable unease; Sundays made him notice new details on pieces of tarnished furniture he's had for years and that he could live without.

The last thing he wanted or needed was more unnecessary information.

He reached the door, turned (while listening if there was anything happening in the hall) and started pacing back again. The shades were still pulled over windows, as he didn't bother to let any sunlight in. That's the way they'll stay until Monday morning, denying this day its existence in Paul's world.

With one meaty hand he fished out a box of cigarettes from a chest pocket of his sleeveless denim shirt. The box was old and crumbled and Paul rhetorically wondered how long has it been there. Damn poison. He put one cigarette in mouth and tossed the rest back.

This is how seasoned soldiers must feel - he thought - when they must wait, armed and prepared, in their bunkers for politicians to decide if they are tired of fighting with pens and ready to unleash the dogs of war. Old wolves like him lived only for hunting - Paul sighed to himself - and time on Sunday was the cursed bureaucrat who reminded again and again in a tiresome, even tone, without even looking at you, that the hunting season is beginning tomorrow and not a second sooner, so to please return then.

The tall man stopped by the window, wondering what to do with himself.

He looked around the room, tonguing the unlit cigarette. The TV was on by default, with the sound down as usual. Whatever was on didn't seem overly tempting; a group of people in expensive suits, suspiciously looking like the candidates for the next town council election, sitting around a massive, art noveau style table, opening and closing their mouths in turns, trying not to gesticulate too fiercely and smile ever so often. Without hearing what they were saying, they all looked fake and unnatural, like animated, remarkably man-like puppets. Ridiculous really, if it weren't for their sharp, glittering eyes that didn't smile at all behind the masks that were their powdered up faces. Turned their smiles into hyena grins, this perspective.

"Fakers" Paul murmured while holding the cigarette in the corner of his mouth "Why don't you put your money where your mouths are? Or your precious asses?"

He turned his head, ignoring the TV screen and the mute debate there, shutting them out from his conscious thoughts. They weren't worth the attention anyway. He hated politicians almost as deeply as he detested this part of the week when he was sentenced to a passive, lazy life… both things an unavoidable nuisance.

Paul shifted the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to another, turned away and started pacing back towards the door.

Closed windows couldn't keep out all the background noise the street was creating, although Paul's flat was high above the ground. He insisted on renting the small place on the top floor and climbed all 72 steps on daily basis, ignoring the elevator. Free exercise, he explained once, making Marshall shake his head in disbelief. Intense traffic and voices of children playing indicated a bright and sunny day outside; the kind most people would label a perfect Sunday weather. Ideal.

Not for all people, though.

Paul went towards the opposite wall through dusty air slowly as if he was moving through honey, spreading the viscose substance with his large body. If only a gym was open. Or the dojo he practiced in. He though about calling Marshall, but knew he really had no right to do that. After all, it was a 'perfect' Sunday and people usually spend 'perfect' Sundays with their families and pets, on picnics, around swimming pools, or doing whatever ordinary people do on such days.

In a moment of irrational stab of malevolence, Paul wished it was pouring rain outside, with dark clouds, violent wind, deafening thunder and all.

He shook head at the idea while letting some air out through his nose and curving his lips in the faintest of smiles. Bitterness wasn't like him, he concluded leaning against the door. He didn't really mind children raising all that noise outside his window, or people almost religiously washing their cars, mowing their lawns, having long family brunches or whatever. He understood his friends needed to spend quality time with their wives and kids; that's how the world's supposed to work.

Supposed to…

One more thought emerged in Paul's mind, but he pushed it aside, distracting himself by another repetitive walk towards the window. It only made him feel masochistic and so he proceeded pacing on, in deliberate slow motion, so his sore soles would feel the weight of every pound of his massive body. That was his trick. Distraction. Deceiving his own mind.

When reaching the window he actually considered lighting the cigarette. Paul didn't smoke - not because he was worried about his health or trends or expenses; he didn't do it simply because nicotine would undermine his effective results as a martial artist. Simple as that. He wanted to, _needed to_, become the best fighter that ever walked the Earth. But he always kept a pack close by, specifically for days like this.

Some masochist part of him, not entirely unconsciously, used them as a threat to himself - his entire effort, results and all he was - whenever he wanted to avoid such uneasy thoughts. He basically extorted switching to pondering on some irrelevant subject from his own mind. It usually worked.

Today, however, he just couldn't stop asking himself those two pesky words that like two worms dug themselves deep inside his brain, so deep he could get them out only by splitting his head open: what if?

What if I had wasted my life? What if I he was missing on something? Did he, unknowingly, make the crucial choice by not choosing, by letting the opportunities slide by without even recognizing them?

He frowned and pressed a forefinger and a thumb against the base of his nose, massaging the spot. Although healthy and strong as a bull, he wasn't getting any younger. Beneath the fingertips, he could feel a web of deep ravines time forever chiseled into the skin of his forehead. They seemed like a sign of old age instead of wisdom and experience now.

It took him years to face the fact he will probably never have a family of his own. No wife or kids or 'normal' Sundays for him. When the revelation finally clearly formed in his mind, he felt something inside him change. Strange, because nothing objectively changed; this was just stating of the obvious, it didn't make anything more or less true. He never even planned on having a family.

It's just that he never planned on NOT having one, either.

In some unexplainable way, the notion made him feel uneasy, he didn't know how to deal with it, how to handle it, feel about it. If he regretted, he'd have to admit he's an idiot who had spent his whole life blindly chasing the wrong dream. If he didn't regret anything, why was he feeling this way, especially on days like this one, with nothing else to occupy his mind and body?

What if?

God, he hated Sundays. Especially Sunday afternoons; the synonym of tangible, materialized desperation. They only reminded him that, when he stripped off his boxing gloves, he had nothing. They reminded him of how ALONE he really was. And, apparently, will forever stay.

The blonde man sighed and turned towards the opposite wall again, slightly wincing in pain. If he continues on like this, he will seriously injure himself and then be unable to practice on, improve, be the best. He couldn't take the chance. The man kneeled by the big bag lying on the floor, already prepared for tomorrow, and pulled out a handful of clean bandages. At least treating his wounds will keep him busy for awhile. Flesh wounds were the only kind he knew how do deal with anyway. As for the other kind…

He didn't like to think about them. They complicated things.

Paul looked towards the window, oddly feeling like a prisoner in his own home. That's what Sundays did to him; made him realize how much he didn't belong out there, how much he couldn't fit in.

Special talent and extraordinary strength singled him out as one of the best fighters on the planet, and among those chosen few he had no doubts about his worth, or the meaning of his life. But living in a mass of anonymous 'normal' people… could he ever be happy at all, trying to live up to THEIR standards?

He shifted the cigarette in his mouth, while his hands skillfully worked with the bandages. One more foot to go.

To Paul this 'normal' life suddenly seemed much more complicated and harder to do than just living for one thing – fighting and winning. He wondered if others like him, scattered all over the world, felt as unaccepted and isolated, out of place, alone in the crowd, as he felt.

The cigarette slid between his lips again. He had finished his work and put the rest of bandages back in the bag. He'll need them again tomorrow, to protect his knuckles from the rough inside of his boxing gloves. And the practice will go on, the fight will continue.

But until then… this Sunday has to pass.

Paul took the cigarette between two fingers, looking at it and watching through it at the same time. He wished it wasn't this easy. Why does temptation to stray come so natural, and why does living by what you know is best for you seem so hard? Shouldn't the evolution have invented some innate safety switch for that already? And why is he think he's getting off the hook by thinking about these, irrelevant things, when the real question still remained:

…what if?

What if he lights this cigarette right now and lets all he's worked for go up in smoke? Should he then regret the loss or finally feel free to start a new life, the one he should have been living all along? A mindless destruction or a liberation?

The big man sat on the floor fiddling with the cigarette, so deceptively small and insignificant in his large fist. What if?

If it were only tomorrow already…

- - - - - - -

There. Again, take it as you see it or, if you like analyzing, ponder on the layers :).

Oh, and the song I promised in the beginning:

**Tomorrow Never Knows**  
words and music: Sakurai Kazutoshi

_Stuck in time which doesn't know enough to stop moving forward  
I'd watched people coming and going about their daily affairs  
Seeing glimpses of immature dreams I can never have again  
In a boy who brushes past me._

Desired everything so badly that I could betray others without a flinch  
even going so far as to want my good friend's lover

Denied even my redemption, today too I embrace that pain.  
if you run through with your eyes set only on the prize,  
you won't be able to see tomorrow  
without victory or defeat, the lonely race is going to continue on.

Sadly people are living things that forget  
the joy of being loved and their miserable past  
In order to advance farther than you are now,  
you can't flee from from the conflict   
if you can do that, even today the world will keep on turning. 

I'll reach out a hand oh oh beyond the endless darkness.   
even if you try to live for someone else's sake oh oh tomorrow never knows  
my heart just as it is, I go to a tomorrow in which no one knows.

I can't live with just gentleness.  
There are also those who choose their partings,  
I wonder if we will meet again somewhere along this long journey.

I'll reach out a hand beyond the endless darkness oh oh  
if your pain is incurable, better to bring it with you.  
it's okay to go outside the borders a little, I'll paint the dream  
Try to live for someone else's sake oh oh Tomorrow never knows  
My heart just as it is, I go to a tomorrow in which no one knows.  
  
Translated by: Brian Stewart &Takako Sakuma

- - - - - -

ORIGINAL (in romaji):

Todomaru koto wo shiranai toki no naka de   
Ikutsumo no utsuri yuku machinami wo nagamete ita  
Osanasugite kieta kaeranu yume no omokage wo  
Surechigau shounen ni kasanetari shite

Mujaki ni hito wo uragireru hodo  
Nani mo ka mo hoshigatte ita  
Wakari aeta tomo no ai shita hito de sae mo 

Tsugunau koto sae dekizu ni kyou mo itami wo daki  
Muchuu de kake nukeru keredomo mada asu wa miezu  
Shouri mo haiboku mo nai mama kodoku no reesu wa tsuzuiteku

Hito wa kanashii gurai wasurete yuku ikimono  
Ai sareru yorokobi mo sabishii kako mo 

Ima yori mae ni susumu tame ni wa  
Arasoi wo sakete torenai  
Sonna fuu ni shite sekai wa kyou mo mawari tsuzukete iru 

Hate shinai yami no mukou ni oh oh te wo nobasou  
Dareka no tame ni ikite mite mo oh oh tomorrow never knows  
Kokoro no mama boku wa yuku no sa daremo shiru koto no nai ashita e

Yasashisa dake ja ikirarenai  
Wakare wo eranda hito mo iru  
Futatabi bokura wa deau darou  
Kono nagai tabiji no dokoka de

Hate shinai yami no mukou ni oh oh te wo nobasou  
Ieru koto nai itami nara isso hiki tsurete  
Sukoshi gurai hamidashitatte ii sa oh oh yume wo egakou  
Dareka no tame ni ikite mitatte oh oh tomorrow never knows  
Kokoro no mama boku wa yuku no sa daremo shiru koto no nai ashita e


End file.
